


On Liberty

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fun, Gen, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are both very bad influences,” she teased. “Athosian children did not whine so much before!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Liberty

Teyla smiled as a cadre of young boys, ranging from just-turned-seven to a toddler with legs still too stubby to move quickly, ran past her, dodging and weaving between buildings. Their laughter danced in the clean, mid-morning air, trailing behind them like one of the comets Dr. Lee had described to her. Effervescent. “Be careful,” she admonished to their retreating backs.

Colonel Sheppard jogged past her, scooping up the youngest and holding him carefully while the boy struggled and squirmed and eventually—pouting in eerily similarity to the man who held him—settled down with a _hmph_. “Not fair!” the little one complained, as red-faced and panting as the Colonel who stood beside her. “I can run fast _too_.”

John’s smile was brilliant. “Sure you can, kiddo. But, see, what the others don’t realize is that I haven’t been _chasing_ them. I’ve been _herding_ them!” His eyes sparkled with good humor, the outer green rim nearly glowing. “Did you really want to get caught in the trap I’ve set up?”

Teyla grinned, shaking her head. She knew the ‘trap’ was Ronon, patiently lying in wait, and that the ground right before his hiding place was slightly uneven, bumps and dips hidden with the remarkable greenery of this place. The older boys would do well enough over such terrain, but for a toddler already shaky from exertion, it might be more than he could safely handle. She caught the Colonel’s eye, raising her left eyebrow just a little.

He beamed back at her, swinging the boy around to put him on his shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go watch ’em fall for my evil, dastardly plan. Right, Dev?”

“Right!” the toddler shouted, pumping his fist in the air in imitation of several of the marines who came to help with the crops. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Hey, hey, easy, kiddo. I’m not a pony,” Sheppard complained, grabbing little heels so they would not pummel his shoulders again.

“No, you’re a thoroughbred—you’ve even got the spindly, oh-so-breakable legs.” Rodney smirked as he breezed by, his surprisingly ground-devouring stalk aimed at the fire-pit where a dead _lurshe_ roasted. “Careful I don’t make Dev reins so he can direct you competently.”

“McKay!” John glared even as Dev asked, “What are reins? Can I have some? Can I?”

“You are both very bad influences,” she teased. “Athosian children did not whine so much before!”

Both men laughed, waving as they departed in their separate directions. She watched them go, pleased. At first, she had thought Doctor Weir’s request for regular, scheduled ‘vacation’ on the mainland to be a subtle way of belittling her people and their more simple ways. Perhaps at very best a seemingly legitimate way to check up on the potential harvest and fresh kills the Atlantis population relied on. 

After almost four weeks, now, she knew better.

 _A change is as good as a rest_ , Zelenka had quoted. The verbalization was new to her, but the concept was old, familiar—and true. Two days were designated for any who were able to come to the mainland. Some did, indeed, go hunting with Athosian guides or look at their crops. But there was also a weekly bonfire and feast, playing sport-games popular among both peoples. The surfing then-Major Sheppard had talked of so long ago had been put to practice. Huts for visiting Atlanteans had been built, ensuring for those who wished only peace and quiet that they, too, could find the relaxation they needed, and no one was short a roof when night fell.

These scheduled down-times were _fun_ —another concept that Teyla knew, but had not the words for. A chance to do only what she wished, what each of them wished, for the sheer pleasure of the activity.

It was rare for the senior staff to visit, and Teyla treasured the chances for her friends to relax and unwind as much as possible. All wore their radios, and all would—and had—go to battle-readiness in a moment of crackling static. But for now, there was just John, who became a different man when he played with the children, taking comfort in their innocence and trust. Even Rodney, who had no tolerance for childish whimsy, had been taken with one of them—a little girl of four, named Kena. She was waiting for him by the fire, hand already reaching up so that McKay need only take it, Kena trotting quickly beside him so she would not be half-carried in his wake.

That, of all the changes Teyla witnessed, was the one she took the most pleasure in. Rodney’s pleasure in teaching Kena—despite how frequently he bragged that his own example as genius would spur her on to greater heights—was as pure as the girl’s burning curiosity. She wanted to know everything, purely for the sake of knowing it, and with her Rodney nearly glowed with contentment. Watching the two of them, heads dark and light bent over diagrams etched in the dirt, was something Teyla wished she could capture on the ‘still cameras’ Sheppard spoke of so wistfully. They kept forgetting to bring one with them.

Knowing all of her team was occupied and happy, Teyla headed to the small greenhouse recently constructed. This was not one of the hydroponic labs the botanists labored over, growing things like cucumbers: crisp, water-laden vegetables the expedition members had found no equivalent to in the Pegasus galaxy. Nor was it the one they had set up nearer to the main village, to ensure that regardless of what their crops did, none of the Athosians would ever truly starve. Teyla smiled: Doctor Weir had been so affronted when the first greenhouse had been suggested— _We would not ever allow anyone to_ starve, she had bit out, angered at the implications.

Teyla had understood, though, and, surprisingly, Rodney. He and Teyla had nodded when Doctor Laurent had carefully explained the difficulty with new growth, the differences in the soil of this world compared to Earth, and how certain guarantees should be put in place. Just in case. And so, with Weir’s temper soothed, the first greenhouse had been constructed, large enough to grow staples and emergency roots and vegetables, things that did not require space and could be relied upon in emergencies.

But that was the other greenhouse, created for function.

This greenhouse was just for beauty.

The scent of it was noticeable long before the structure itself came into view: fragrant and light, an explosion of scents that were never supposed to be melded, creating something new and different now that they were. The glass was frosted and cool as Teyla touched the door, waiting for the hiss that meant she could push it open all the way. It was dim inside, for all the sun shone through brightly, greenery muting the yellow glow, and mist diffusing it even further. The building was not small, but the paths within it were narrow due to the flourishing of plants—all kinds. From the small, frond-like plants called _ferns_ , to the most intense colors Teyla had ever seen, nature’s brilliance painted on thin, delicate petals of all shapes and sizes.

There were already many people inside. Female, mostly, although the greenhouse was not exclusively for one gender or the other, chatting lightly as they tended the plants. Through some technology Teyla did not understand, it was possible for plants requiring entirely different types of climate to grow together, separated only by translucent glass, creating niches for each type of environment. Of all the wonders the Atlanteans had shown her, this was the one she valued the most: life. All kinds, all requirements, all growing side by side.

“Ah, Teyla. I’m glad you could make it.” Elizabeth—she was never Doctor Weir here—had a smudge of dirt on one high cheekbone, hair in total disarray as she trimmed back a many-petaled flower that grew its own defenses. “Is everything all right?”

“So formal,” Teyla told her, shrugging out of her overcoat. It was always warm within the greenhouse, no matter how cold the nights became. “Did we not agree to forgo all such limitations here?”

Laughter met her words, the sound echoing lushly. Several other women joining in teasing Elizabeth—who flushed, ducking her head in wry agreement. There was always a hush in the thick, water-laden air, a sense of quiet repose that no shout dared disturb. Teyla moved deeper along the pathways, stopping to greet Atlantean and Athosian both as they tended their charges, letting her fingers glide along velvet petals that almost seemed to reach for her.

“You know,” Lissa—First Sergeant Allisandra Asante—started, peeking out from among her beloved flowers. The greenhouse had been her idea, her almost shy demeanor vanishing when she was lost among twisting greenery. “When you speak like that, Teyla,” she teased, “it’s kind of hard to remember to be informal.”

“Oh?” Teyla knelt beside her, tweaking her hair before helping her dig in the soft, dark earth. Of all the stains Teyla’s hands bore, these dark smudges were the cleanest. “Are you saying that my speech is stilted? Old-fashioned?”

Lissa giggled again, a breathless sound that spread like the misting water around them. “Since you’re already quoting me... ”

Teyla did not often laugh. It wasn’t that she had objection to it, but she had always thought dignity and a slightly aloof smile worked better in the long run. Here, though, safe within tinted glass walls, among women who would never judge, never take anything said or done past the flowering borders, she allowed herself the luxury of laughter. It felt good. “Indeed.”

“See? Formal, again.” Lissa was shy on Atlantis, hardly ever speaking but when spoken to. Here, she let her voice grow heavy with amusement, loud enough that Elizabeth, several meters away and now tending to something called _strawberries_ , heard her. Lissa said the strawberries would ripen soon, and that they tasted nothing like the artificial flavoring in their few sweets. 

Elizabeth, who had a self-proclaimed obsession with the fruit, watched their growth carefully. “We _did_ say this was a place just for us to hang out. Right?” she asked, only slightly pointedly.

Another woman—Sarah—who often worked in the kitchens during the week laughed, setting off a cascade of pure mirth from all within the greenhouse. “We did,” Sara proclaimed. “So, in the spirit of that.” Abandoning the strawberries, first Sarah, then Elizabeth, then several others folded themself gracefully to the ground, forming a circle out of a straight line. Very little actual gardening took place when more than two women were inside. “Did you find out?”

“They’re busy with the children, today,” Teyla replied. She’d never _gossiped_ before now, but she found it to be more relaxing than anticipated. It helped that those she gossiped with were not malicious, as some on Atlantis could be. “I doubt they’ll have time.”

Lissa was a pale, frail looking creature, at odds with her skill in weaponry, and when she blushed it traveled past her cheeks to stain her neck and down below the hem of her shirt. Embarrassed, she worked to uproot a plant that grew too large, its dark roots spilling out, thin and fragile, almost spindly, without soil to grip. “Um.”

“Oh, come on. You have to tell us,” Elizabeth wheedled. She leaned forward amidst others who begged for the same thing. Grins provided more light then the summer sun outside. “You know I’m all right with it already. Obviously.”

Another moment of hesitation and then Lissa sighed. “Oh, fine. Um. It happened before.”

“On the puddlejumper?” Cara, a recent-come woman with the gene, asked. She had flown the second ’jumper over and had seen what Teyla now remembered: a ‘problem’ Rodney had found. Requiring only one other person to help him.

She relayed this memory with the others, who smirked and sniggered. A bee buzzed past Teyla’s nose before alighting on a flower: such insects kept Rodney, and therefore John, well away from the greenhouse. A unique sort of privacy. “They were inside for some time, I believe.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to find a round-about way to order a decontamination?”

The blush remained strong, Lissa giggling again, the sound harmonized as others joined in. “No. It was just, um. Nice, really.”

“Rodney and John can do _nice_?” another one of the marines, this one called Zaneta, asked.

“I’ve certainly seen no evidence of it,” Elizabeth drawled in one of her better imitations of John’s slow, almost flat way of speaking.

Lissa glared at the woman who, on Atlantis, she would have immediately deferred to. “Yes! They can. Well, Colonel Sheppard can.”

There was a story there, of course. Lissa was very good for stories, although she parted with them reluctantly. Elizabeth already had negotiations open, applying all her skills in that regard, while other conversations bloomed around them like the flowers they tended. Occasionally, offers of chocolate, a free massage, or pedicure set were called out. All, as usual, were refused.

Teyla was content to focus on her chosen flower, a meld of purple and pink and white, with dapples of brown fanned inside the broad leaves, careful not to disturb the enclosure that kept this air slightly drier. Her skills at negotiation would not be useful here, and she did not need confirmation for what she knew already. So she worked, nails growing dark, her skin streaked where she wiped at it, pushing back sweat. Gardening, as the Atlanteans called it, was surprisingly intensive, her knees and back hurting after only a short time in her current position. It was worth it, though, watching as something so delicate, so beautiful, and with no other purpose but beauty, flourish under her attentions.

Periodically, she glanced up to see how things were proceeding—Elizabeth’s back was still straight, but her hair was starting to frizz, a sure sign of her frustration—and during one check, she caught sight of the grounds that surrounded the greenhouse. The mostly-opaque windows outside allowed those within a clear view of the world around them, which meant that when Ronon, carrying two boys at once, tumbled into view, Teyla could watch.

It was a melee by now, Ronon and John riding herd on the excited boys. They orbited between the two adults, tussling with each other before joining up to turn their ‘attacks’ on the men—who were laughing almost too hard to repel a bug, let alone a handful of determined boys. Over by the trees, where it was cooler, Teyla could see Rodney seated, Kena leaning so closely she was practically in his lap. Rodney was talking, describing something while Kena watched with rapt attention, easily understanding the symbols Rodney sketched with each sweep of his hands. Familiar with such descriptions, Teyla guessed they were discussing the physics of each tumble the boys took, the logical strategies Ronon and John employed. Kena soaked in every bit of it, as hungry as dry earth parched for water. 

Further down, Teyla could see one of the female Marines plaiting a girl’s hair, while a game of _basra_ , surprisingly similar to what John called ‘soccer’, was played by a mixed group of Atlanteans and Athosians. Beyond that, she knew, other groups would be lounging in the sun, or climbing trees, or frolicking in the cool waters that provided a rhythmic pulse for life here on the edge of the mainland.

“... there’s gossip, but then there’s _gossip_ , Elizabeth!” Lissa laughed, breaking into Teyla’s thoughts. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!” Negotiations were going poorly, then, for Elizabeth to sound so frustrated so quickly.

“I believe,” Teyla interrupted, “it is unnecessary. Look.”

Hanging branches of flowers Lissa called mutated orchids framed the scene before them. It had not changed from the last time Teyla looked, but for tiny things: the way Ronon would sometimes stop, still despite the wiggling children around him; the way John would glance up, spinning a boy around despite the soft smile he directed towards Rodney; the way Kena would grab Rodney’s hand, tugging him towards the boys and imperiously commanding him, Teyla knew from prior observation, to _just go and_ play, _now_. And Rodney willingly went with her, much to the delighted laughter of John and the other boys.

“I did not understand ‘weekends’ before this,” she told the other women, who laughed and speculated, particularly when Rodney tripped, John immediately there to catch him, Ronon laughing as he conspired with the boys to trip Rodney again. Their joy made her heart sing—but her own happiness in sharing peace and comfort among women who demanded nothing but her enjoyment in return, was what prompted her to speak. “But I like them a very great deal.”


End file.
